


Forgiveness

by cptsdstars



Series: Some Kind of Holy Word [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Polyamory, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Threesome, minor mention of Arthur/OFC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsdstars/pseuds/cptsdstars
Summary: She was fascinated that Arthur knew how to read, made him read her street signs and dime novels and late at night after her parents had gone to bed he sat next to an oil lamp at the foot of her bed and read aloud psalms.They were beautiful, he decided. He never really understood the whole religion thing, finds it foolish to love and listen and trust someone you don’t know because maybe you’ll end up in paradise in the end. But the psalms sat nicely in his heart, reminded him of the wilderness and the stars and the way Annabelle would sometimes sing church hymns around camp only for Dutch to kiss her and laugh; “We’re all sinners darlin’ and that ain’t ever gonna change.”





	Forgiveness

_I have been evil from the day I was born;  
from the time I was conceived, I have been sinful._

Arthur Morgan didn’t have a conventional childhood.

Sure he had his Ma and his Pa, the awful people that they were. He doesn’t care much for remembering them though. 

Stopped remembering them fondly at least right after his Pa splattered his Ma’s brains all over their kitchen floor. 

No one ever found out about that though, or anything else his Pa ever did. The physical manifestation of the devil on earth was only ever caught after trying to rob a bank while he was drunk. 

Arthur was sitting just outside. Watched them drag his Pa away kicking and screaming like he was an idiot child. 

A woman, the preacher’s wife, thought she knew what was best for him after they locked his daddy up. She promised she would take care of him, promised him he was loved by her and his new father. 

Well Arthur didn’t care for that sort of sentiment at all. Robbed that whole family at gunpoint of everything they offered to give him for free and then some. 

His Pa always did say that the apple don’t fall too far from the tree. 

Dutch says that too, more often within a convoluted lie than any other time. But it means the same to Arthur. The only difference is he wants to be like Dutch. 

Hosea laughs, says _no, you don’t._ Then leaves the conversation there. 

Dutch says it again when Arthur’s sixteen, pretending to be a good father with a good wife and his perfect teenage son while talking to a town preacher.

_Sincerity and truth are what you require;  
fill my mind with your wisdom._

He makes Arthur’s skin crawl, that preacher.

He’s a got a teenage daughter, a quiet mousy sort of girl who stares at Arthur’s hands instead of his face. Hosea stops him at his tent one morning, tells him to get close to that girl, help them con this corrupted town of every last cent. 

Arthur didn’t quite know how he could help by getting cozy with the preacher’s daughter, but they insisted he pull his weight. 

So he did, he showed up at her house for dinner, politely smiled at her parents and touched her hand gently under the table. He laid on thick every long-winded lesson in lying he’d ever gotten from Hosea, and was soon escorting this girl around the town with her arm laced in his. 

She was his first kiss, and it was a lie. 

She was fascinated that Arthur knew how to read, made him read her street signs and dime novels and late at night after her parents had gone to bed he sat next to an oil lamp at the foot of her bed and read aloud psalms. 

They were beautiful, he decided. He never really understood the whole religion thing, finds it foolish to love and listen and trust someone you don’t know because maybe you’ll end up in paradise in the end. But the psalms sat nicely in his heart, reminded him of the wilderness and the stars and the way Annabelle would sometimes sing church hymns around camp only for Dutch to kiss her and laugh _we’re all sinners darlin’ and that ain’t ever gonna change._

He told the preacher’s daughter that too, she looked heartbroken. She held his hands in hers and promised that wasn’t true but Arthur knows what the inside of a man’s head looks like and what it feels like all dried up under his nails. 

_You can be forgiven._ She had said. _You don’t want all that guilt sitting on your shoulders._

_I don’t deserve to be forgiven._ Arthur had replied. 

_Don’t be silly,_ she had smiled, _you are so loved, of course you do._

Arthur caught her father beating her on the steps of the church two days later. He shot him dead right there under the crucifix on the door.

_Remove my sin, and I will be clean;  
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow._

Arthur is not a religious man, but he believes wholeheartedly he’s a sinner. Always has.

He ends up finding his peace with the world not in a church but in the evening on a hill overlooking a seemingly never ending prairie. He feels so small and insignificant out there under the stars, but also like he’s meant to be there. With all his sin and all his pain and all his fear it’s what he is. There wouldn’t be no saints without any sinners and that’s just the way it is. 

So he embraces it. 

He’s a sinner. He kills he steals he lies he fucks men and women both. He’s a disappointment under God but when has he ever been loved by any father, really. 

Abigail tells him she’s sure she met God once, way up in Michigan after she was hired by some fella to travel with him up there. She says he called her a whore. Arthur fucks her on Easter Sunday, just for the novelty. 

John tells him that someone tried to raise him Catholic. So Arthur fucks him too, then. 

He fucks both of them under the stars in California one summer night and wonders briefly if maybe heaven really does exist. 

It’s freezing now, nothing he’ll ever get used to. A blizzard had come and trapped them a little too far north than Dutch would like to have been around this time of year. So they’re holding up in an abandoned summer home on a frozen lake. Not much in the way of warm shelter but enough for them to be stuck here for a few days and live. 

It’s sunny today though, still too cold for any of the snow to melt, but the snow shines and sparkles on the lake so brightly it hurts Arthur’s eyes to stare too long.

But that’s exactly what he’s doing, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his face wrapped tightly in a scarf, he stands in the snow and stares out at the ice as far as he can. 

The camp is busy around him, digging supplies and wagons out of the fresh snow. Abigail walks around collecting dirty dishes from around their tents. She’s singing a haunting hymn softly under her breath but the calmness and stillness of the world around them carried her voice farther than Arthur thinks she would want. It caused Dutch to leave and shut himself away in the little cabin, Abigail’s soft voice reminding him too harshly of Annabelle’s. 

John walks up behind him then, rests his hand a little too low on Arthur’s hip to get his attention. 

Arthur shoots him a glare but with his whole face covered from the cold it doesn’t come across too well. 

John just smiles his toothy grin and pulls the scarf away from Arthur’s mouth. 

“Hello, sunshine,” John says softly. 

“What do you want, Marston?” Arthur asks gruffly. 

John takes his hands away from Arthur and sticks them in his own pockets, he breathes out and watches his breath turn to steam in the cold air. 

“I was just wondering if Abigail and I are allowed to share your room again tonight?”

Arthur smacks his shoulder. “Not so loud!” 

John rolls his eyes. “It’s an innocent question. If we can sleep in the cabin someone else can have our very warm and not at all drafty tent.” 

Arthur smiles at him. “I bet you stink under all those layers.”

John glares at him now. “Shut up.”

“I’m fine with Abigail sleeping in the room with me but we might have to open the window if you’re there too!”

“You’re not funny,” John says, hiding a smile. 

“I think I’m hilarious,” Arthur says softly. 

“We’ll see you tonight then, Morgan,” John says, walking away. 

Arthur gives him a little salute before turning his eyes back to the snow-covered lake. 

He lets them shut slowly against the blinding sun and listens calmly to Abigail’s soft voice echoing across the ice. 

Figures he doesn’t deserve them.

_Let me hear the sounds of joy and gladness;_

Later when it’s dark and the fire at the center of camp is dying, John sneaks through the cabin to Arthur’s little hidden away room. It’s not very big but it’s warmer than the tents and Arthur and John and Abigail fit in just fine together.

Arthur’s laying on the bed quietly writing when John pushes the door open quietly, he barely looks up from his journal when John steps inside. He doesn’t dare look at John while he strips all his layers back; he’s a gentleman. 

He should have paid more attention however because when John is down to just his underclothes he practically pounces on top of Arthur. He straddles Arthur’s hips and pushes his journal gently out of his hands so he can press his still-cold lips to his. 

Arthur laughs into the kiss at the absurdity of it all and how impatient John usually is on nights like this. He isn’t even waiting for Abigail to sneak her way into the room. 

John’s hands land on Arthur’s jaw, tilting his head up to get a better angle on the kiss. Arthur groans as John pushes his way closer, licks his way into his mouth. 

John’s hands trace down from Arthur’s face to his neck, over the soft fabric of his shirt to under it—

Arthur grabs his wrists and pulls them off his stomach with a gasp. John smiles wildly down at him. 

“Your hands are so fucking cold, Marston,” Arthur says, squeezing his wrists. 

John laughs. “That’s why I’m in here.”

John pushes his hands back down on to Arthur’s stomach and Arthur tenses up and tries to pull him off. Arthur’s much bigger and stronger than John but the way he’s sitting gives him an advantage over Arthur and he can’t pull his hands away. 

So Arthur does the next best thing and rolls his hips up to meet John’s and John’s breath tellingly hitches in his throat. 

He leans down to kiss Arthur again, running his still cold hands over Arthur’s red-hot skin but Arthur doesn’t mind anymore. He just rocks his hips up against John and kisses him roughly back. 

John rocks his hips rhythmically against Arthur’s and all the blood previously occupying Arthur’s head runs south. 

Then the door clicks open and John freezes on top of Arthur. The fear of being discovered they both know all too well taking over their muscles.

Abigail laughs from the doorway and shuts it quietly. Arthur feels John relax. 

“How old are you John Marston?” she laughs, pulling off her coat and scarf. “You’d think you’re a teenager the way you’re humping him like a dog.”

John huffs and Arthur smiles up at him. 

John throws his head back to look at Abigail where she’s standing staring at them with her arms crossed. 

“I just couldn’t wait for you anymore. You’re very slow.”

Abigail rolls her eyes. John moves to sheepishly take off his pants, a little embarrassed. Then Abigail sits on the bed next to them, rests her hand on John’s back.

“You should leave them on,” she says and John lets his hands drop back down to Arthur’s hips. Abigail runs her hand across his arm, down to where his hands meet Arthur’s hips. 

Arthur lets out a shaky sigh as Abigail runs her fingers across the waistband of his jeans and John watches her hand intently. She uses her other hand to push John away gently, he falls and lays down next to Arthur, watching Abigail through his lust-blown eyes. 

Abigail works carefully to pull off Arthur’s jeans and John helps her by stripping off Arthur’s shirt. 

Arthur for once allows himself to be spoiled, John kissing at his neck, Abigail teasing around his waist. 

She grabs his cock, expertly stroking it in her soft hands. Her movements cause Arthur to arch back involuntary into Abigail’s hand, into John’s mouth. 

Abigail smiles, seemingly proud of herself. Arthur glances over at John, whose hands are shoved in his pants, watching his lovers carefully. Abigail hikes up her dress, and without much warning, lowers herself on to Arthur. 

Arthur bites his cheek hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle the moan that wants to escape, all too aware of the rest of the camp outside the walls of this room. 

Abigail moves slowly, and Arthur’s hands fly up to hold on to her waist, his head swimming, his vision blurry. 

John moans at the sight, breaking the stifled silence between the three of them. Abigail grabs his hand, holds it still and glares down at him. Arthur takes the opportunity to thrust up into her, and she half keels over with the pleasure of it. 

They don’t need to talk. They know each other so well now, affectionately spending nights together on and off since Abigail had joined the gang. John and Arthur having fooled around longer. 

Now, in the night with the moon shining clearly off the snow, Arthur realizes he wouldn’t ever want anything else. 

Abigail looks radiant, silhouetted in the silver light, her cheeks flushed and head thrown back in pleasure. John is infatuated with the both of them, refusing to look away, worshipping their every move. 

Abigail slows, peeling off the rest of her dress to expose her breasts and John gasps at the sight, moving his own hand faster around his leaking cock. Abigail is distracted by him for a moment, watching the way he writhes and shakes under his own hand. 

Arthur takes the opening to hold her hips tighter, and in one swift and strong motion switch their position so Abigail is laying on her back next to John and Arthur rests on top of her. Abigail gasps with surprise before reaching her hand up to Arthur’s hair and laughing softly in her chest. 

“Goddamn,” John pants. 

Arthur snaps his hips forward and Abigail reaches up desperately for his arms, grabbing something to hold on to. She moans quietly with every thrust forward from Arthur and John shushes her this time, mocking her. 

Abigail growls for him to shut up, letting one of her hands fall from Arthur’s bicep to rest on John’s throat. He gasps, his hips snapping up erratically into his fist. Arthur slows his thrusts as he watches Abigail gently squeeze her hand around John’s throat. His mouth falls open in a silent moan and his hand moves fiercely over his cock. 

Abigail looks over suddenly at Arthur, eyes dark, “Don’t you stop,” she says 

Arthur listens, speeds his pace back up, stifles a moan at the feel of it. Abigail doesn’t manage to though, moans and clenches and squeezes her hand around John’s throat and John comes over his own shirt with a loud, pained inhale. 

Arthur has to shut his eyes at the sight, wants Abigail to come undone first, the heat rising in his belly almost too much. Thankfully, before John is even fully done riding out the waves of his own pleasure, he plants his mouth right over Abigail’s nipple and kisses harshly. Abigail moans and shakes and Arthur encourages her quietly. 

She bites down on her own hand when she comes, the sound and feel and sight bringing Arthur right to the edge. He pulls out and as she shakes her way through her orgasm he comes messily all over her stomach, panting and shaking.

John laughs somewhere to his left and Arthur bonelessly rolls off from on top of Abigail, breathing heavy but happily exhausted. 

John sits up, takes off his messy shirt and uses the clean side of the fabric to gently clean Abigail off. He throws it on the floor when he’s done and gently kisses them both before laying back down. 

Arthur’s heart aches as Abigail curls against him and John’s somehow still cold hands slide across her bare waist to hold her tight. 

Arthur realizes quietly that he loves them. 

He also realizes he doesn’t deserve them. 

“Of course you do,” Abigail says, and Arthur quickly realizes he must have voiced his thoughts aloud. 

“You are so loved, Arthur Morgan,” she says softly into his skin. 

And for the first time in his life, Arthur believes.

_and though you have crushed me and broken me,  
I will be happy once again._

**Author's Note:**

> The Psalm being referenced is Psalm 51 verses 5-8 if you were curious


End file.
